Page 11 of To Claim A King
My stomach housed a million butterflies as we stared into each other's souls. I had to look away. The intensity of emotion in his eyes was too much. Two men had already taken my heart. I wasn’t like Winter, with enough love in my heart for five men.
Shit. Winter. My floaty brain wasn’t willing to think about any of the words I’d have to say when I reached out to her.Hey, bestie, just wanted you to know I’m kind of a killer, and I may be in the news sometime soon, but don’t worry about it, okay?
Lucky cupped my chin, turning my attention back to his face, but he never got the chance to respond. A lumbering shirtless Viking bear stood just ten feet away.
I hadn’t even heard him in my Lucky-laced haze.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” Kellan admonished, wearing a surly frown more directed at Lucky than at me. “And why the fuck are you smoking weed in here? This isn’t a frat house.”
“Lighten up, Kell-Bell,” Lucky drawled, accentuating the ‘L’s’ with lazy flicks of his tongue. It was oddly erotic. He removed his palm from my cheek and gestured toward the now empty seat beside us. “Join us.”
“I don’t smoke that crap,” Kellan growled, shooting us another disapproving glare before flopping into the chair in an angry huff. “I’m an FBI agent.”
Lucky burst into drugged hysterical laughter, his entire chest vibrating into my own. “You’re with the cartel, mate! Don’t you guys sell the hard shyte? Honestly, where you’re willing to draw the line is fascinating.”
As if to accentuate his point, he drew one last toke of the blunt and cupped the remnants in his fist, blowing Kellan a kiss with the residual smoke.
I giggled through my high haze and flashed my Viking a lolling smirk. “He’s got you there, Kellll-Bellllll.”
I got an angry eyebrow in return. This man had mastered the look better than a haughty runway model.
“You too?”
“Oh, bugger off, Conan.” Lucky’s tone turned serious, pulling me tighter into his chest and stroking a finger down my spine. “It’s been a rough one for all of us, yeh?”
The Viking muttered something under his breath, but did not lecture us anymore. Instead, he stretched out his long body in the tiny chair, every ripple of honed muscle on display for us to enjoy.
“Where’d you put the snacks?” I asked abruptly, the inevitable munchies forcing several cravings to hit the back of my tongue at once.
“The kitchenette cupboards,” Lucky answered, having been the one to complete that task while I spoke privately with Joey and Kellan showered. “You craving some wheatgrass, Blondie? Some kale chips?” He screwed up his face in disgust.
“Actually… I could really go for some Skittles right now.” My mouth puckered at the thought of the saccharine sweet candy. “I like the orange ones.”
“Oh, ho!” Lucky crowed, as if he’d won something important. “All I had to do was get you high for you to get some tastebuds, hey, Blondie?”
He turned his attention to Kellan’s unimpressed form. “Conan, can you grab that bag of Skittles for us by the sink? I would go, but we’re a wee bit comfortable.” He pulled me in and gave my lips a quick peck, then shot a sassy wink at the buff man, goading him the way only Lucky knew how.
We sat on the receiving end of a lengthy warrior’s glower before Kellan stood to his full towering height and stalked toward the kitchen.
“They all taste the same,” Kellan retorted gruffly.
“Nice bum!” I called, watching his glutes flex and pull in the tight black boxers, every back muscle rippling with each step.
Lucky wolf-whistled beside me, but our sexy partner refused to take the bait, ignoring us as he rounded the corner to the other room.
I heard a long-suffering sigh between my fits of giggles.
Kellan returned in moments, handing us a family-sized bag of Skittles, then excused himself from our “frat party” and retreated down the bedroom hallway. We tore into the candy with renewed vigor. Lucky dug through the entire bag and sorted out all the orange ones in a neat little pile on the coffee table for me to snack on.
“You like a little sweet when you put all your walls down, do yeh, Blondie?”
Lucky’s rust-colored hair was adorably mussed, the green in his eyes brighter than I’d ever seen it. His lips pouted in a pretty pink puff, and I felt the need to pulverize them with mine. He was cunning and devious, and far smarter than I’d ever give him credit. And he was mine. A deep chord plucked in my heart at that acknowledgment. In whatever moments came next, Lucky O’Donnell wasmine.
He didn’t break eye contact and placed a single orange Skittle between his teeth, lobbing it with grace onto the tip of his tongue. “Wanna see how sweet I taste, Blondie?”
My stomach did a little flip that had nothing to do with all the sugar. I leaned in, swirling my tongue over his in a deliciously citrus-flavored kiss. I shifted positions in his lap, swinging my legs around to straddle him, our tongues fused together in a breathtaking dally of passion and escape. When I finally came up for air, his glazed eyes and flushed cheeks brought a deep satisfaction to the pit of my belly. This effect Lucky had on me—the hold on my body and my heart—well, he wasn’t immune either.
“Let’s try that again with a green one.” When I wrinkled my nose in distaste, he grinned before reaching to grab a single lime Skittle off the tabletop. “Come on, Blondie. Betcha it tastes better with a little Lucky in it.”
